The Masks We Wear
by BeyondTheHorizonIsHope
Summary: There is a malevolence hidden deep in our hearts. For some, it is small, harmless, but for others it is a daily struggle to walk that thin line between black and white. Those who are good may fall into the clutches of evil, and those who have not seen the light may one day rise from the darkness. Blake/OC
1. Chapter One

Hello fellow fanfictioners! This is my first Batman fic and I must say, I am quite excited! Saw The Dark Knight Rises and fell in love with it. I really hadn't thought of making a story, but then this one popped in my mind and I just couldn't say no!

Just like most of you, I love John Blake's character! And I also wanted to give him someone, but nothing too easy. I plan on this story being dark...ish. I say ish, because let's face it, nothing ever turns out the way we want it to. I really wanted it to feel independent while also being completely wrapped up in the story and I think I got it. This takes place a little before the movie and a little after. It is a little slow to start, but just like TDKR, it has to get everything in order. If I make any mistakes such as grammar, spelling or a Batman info mishap, please correct me!

Also, this story might need a beta. I'm not sure who has or hasn't seen the movie so if you feel like you're up to it, I'd love to hear from you!

The cover photo will also be changed to a drawing whenever my muse decides to return from vacation.

So, enjoy!

**And I own nothing, absolutely nothing as unfortunate as it is.**

* * *

"_He that falls into sin is a man; that grieves at it, is a saint; that boasteth of it, is a devil." – Thomas Fuller_

**The Masks We Wear **

**Chapter One**

It was a rare thing for Wayne Manor to receive visitors these days. A few years ago, when the newly constructed building first opened its doors, hardly a day would pass by without a variety of callers parking on the front steps. At first, Bruce would accept a few, businessmen, dignitaries and the like, but over time he refused them more and more. Soon enough, the doorbell stopped ringing entirely. The front door could be left wide open for days and not a soul would enter. The mansion had felt more alive when its master had been gone all those years.

So when the empty hallways echoed the sound of the doorbell, Alfred Pennyworth found himself quite surprised, even more so when he laid eyes on the mysterious visitor.

She was young, probably far too young for Alfred to use as, for lack of a better word, bait to get Bruce out into the world again. He would feel downright guilty about it. He felt bad enough that this was usually the first thought that crossed his mind whenever he met someone.

"Can I help you?" he asked, British accent filled to the brim with courtesy.

She smiled wider. "Yes, I believe so. I was wondering if Mr. Wayne was available."

Of course she was.

She looked like a girl just out of college, maybe older, with chestnut curls that blew so often in the wind, she had stopped bothering to tuck them behind her ears. Her blue eyes were bright, innocent and, above all else, sincere. She certainly did not belong to the crowd that Bruce was often seen with, both the rich and criminal type. Press would have had equipment and – it made no matter what her business with Master Wayne was. The answer was always the same, as unfortunate as it was.

"I'm afraid not. Mr. Wayne does not see anyone without an appointment." He could hear the disappointment leaking into his voice. It was supposed to be easier as time went on, not the opposite.

Her smile faded but she did not seem any less pleasant for it. "With all due respect, Mr. Pennyworth, when was the last time he had one?"

He did not even deem that question worthy of an answer, partly because it wasn't any of her bloody business and partly because he honestly could not say when Bruce had last seen someone. The girl seemed to take the hint and visibly deflated.

"I'm sorry. That was very rude of me." She looked at the ground a moment, flustered, attempted to get her hair behind an ear, then dug for something inside her jacket. Her hand emerged with a small, sealed envelope. "I completely understand that Mr. Wayne sees who he wants to when he wants to. I came expecting that much so I prepared this."

Alfred took the envelope when she offered it to him, noting the neat calligraphy used to write 'Mr. Wayne' on the front.

"If you could give that to him, I would appreciate it. It's just a small note, a thank you really. I mean, I owe him quite a bit more than a piece of paper but," she paused, running a hand through her hair, "Well, I don't quite have the money for anything more. I just finished paying for a funeral and…and I'm rambling."

She looked rather sheepish then. Alfred dared to call it cute.

"My condolences for your loss," he offered, hoping that the death was nothing that the Batman could have prevented. That was the last thing Bruce needed to find and go on about.

Her lips twitched. "Thank you. I'm…I'm actually off to it now so I'll just leave you to…whatever it is you were doing. Have a nice day, Mr. Pennyworth."

He watched her leave, curiosity growing. "You as well, Miss…"

She turned halfway down the steps and for a moment, Alfred could have sworn her eyes gave a mischievous twinkle, like she knew that he was reaching for her name for a purpose other than a proper goodbye. She very well might have, after all she had just handed him a letter destined for a billionaire she had undoubtedly never met. Even when one's employer was not a former masked crime fighter, caution still had to be enforced.

"Emily. Just Emily."

As she drove off in the taxi that had been idling in the drive, Alfred took a good look at the envelope. He wondered what kind of message was written inside, what she could possibly be thanking Bruce for. He had done nothing for years.

Alfred hoped the uncomfortable feeling in his bones was just his age showing.

* * *

_Dear Mr. Wayne,_

_Eight years ago, I watched the Joker destroy Gotham General. I was on the last bus and thought I had just narrowly escaped death. Little did I know, my nightmare was only beginning. Sometimes late at night, I can still feel his knife on my neck and hear his terrifying laughter as the guards duct taped a gun to my hands and covered my face with a clown mask. They told me if I moved, I'd die. To me, it looked as though I was going to die either way. There seemed to be no point in hope._

_And then the Batman came. He knocked out the SWAT team just as they were about to open fire and saved my life. I had wanted to thank him but true to his nature, he vanished._

_So, I am thanking him now._

_Yes, Mr. Wayne, I know your secret. I cannot tell you why, but let me assure you, it is safe with me. A man who has done so much for the city deserves the privacy and peace that he desires. And despite what they all claim, I know you did not kill Harvey Dent. No one defends Gotham as tirelessly as you and then kills its hope of salvation. I only pray that the reason you took the fall has benefited us more than the truth ever would have. I miss our Dark Knight._

_Thank you, Bruce Wayne, for my life and for Gotham._

_Emily_

Bruce did not like the taste left in his mouth after he finished reading the words aloud. Though he remained completely still and outwardly calm, inside he felt something screaming, perhaps panicking even. For nearly ten years, he had gotten away with it, and now someone knew who he was, someone he himself did not know, someone he had not entrusted with the damaging knowledge. Despite the aches in his worn body and the inability to properly use his left leg, Bruce had not felt so vulnerable until now.

Alfred cleared his throat. "Well, that explains why she avoided telling me her last name."

He did not look away from the window to the faithful butler behind him. The Batman had been out of commission for eight years. Realistically, this Emily or whomever gave her this information – another daunting thought – would have figured it out then, while the evidence was still fresh. What would cause her to wait to bring up his identity until now? Or, if she truly had just discovered it, why would she start? Who else could have done it? Who else could have known? There were far too many questions, too many factors, all leading to one thing:

"What does she want from me?"

There was an uncharacteristic pause from Alfred. "What makes you think she wants anything, sir?"

Now Bruce did turn to him. "The last time someone discovered my identity, they demanded ten million dollars a year."

Alfred nodded. "Point taken, sir, but when I spoke with the girl, she seemed innocent enough, no more capable of blackmail than you are at not looking a gift horse in the mouth. Besides that, she mentions nothing of the sort in the letter, only thanks."

"And you believe her?"

"Yes, sir, I do."

Bruce gave Alfred a good, hard look. The man knew as much about the girl as he did. He wished he could still have that kind of trust. "She has too much information. Who I am, who I work with, Harvey Dent. Even if she has no intention of doing wrong, I can't assume she is going to stay that way forever."

Bruce moved out of the room as fast as his bad leg and cane could carry him. He did not expect Alfred to follow. The butler often didn't when he had a final, somewhat impacting thing to say. It was his form of protest, which actually worked more often than not.

Sure enough, Alfred called out to him. "When you fought the Joker all those years ago, did you not say that the people of Gotham were ready to believe in good?"

Hypocrite, that was what he had just called him. Alfred would never say such a thing directly and would deny it until his dying day, but the word rang silently through the mansion all the same. Truthfully, the man was right. That was before he knew about Harvey Dent though, before Two-Face had come into the world and nearly destroyed everything that they had all worked so hard to achieve. It was all before he had killed Gotham's white knight.

"What would you have me do, Alfred?" Bruce asked, leaning heavily on his cane.

"Just have a little faith."

Faith. It was such a simple word for so complicated a thing. He used to have it before the evil that corrupted Gotham twisted and shattered it, before the hope of a people had tried to kill an innocent child. There was still good, he truly did believe that, but he also had to believe that all good could be tainted.

"I can't do that, not this time," Bruce said as he looked back to his butler. "Look, Alfred, allow me this much. I can't just sit here not knowing who she is while she knows my darkest secret."

Alfred nodded, although he did not look entirely pleased. "I can do that, sir."

Together, the two of them made their way to the study. Bruce could not recall the last time he had ventured into the cave, or even to this room come to think of it. He used to spy on police activity, just to make sure Gotham was not going to spontaneously combust, but when it became apparent that the city was managing on its own, he ceased the excursions. Being down there had become too painful. It reminded him of everything he had and could not have, so close yet out of reach. That had seemed to be the theme of his life.

"How do you plan on finding her?" Alfred asked as he played three notes on the piano. Like clockwork, a bookcase popped away from the wall, revealing the secret passage to the Batcave.

"Well, if I can't get anything from her prints, I'm going to look up every Emily in the city and have you glance through all the photographs until one jumps out at you."

Bruce actually smiled at the look Alfred gave him.

"Sounds splendid, sir."

* * *

It was technically still summer in Gotham, but Emily could hardly tell. For the past week, it had been nothing but clouds and rain, and a dreadful temperature drop that she dared to call unbearable for that time of year. Of course, she never had been one for the cold, as her outfit made evident. The last time she had worn the jacket she was huddled in was March, when a good two feet of snow still covered the ground. It was only mid-September now, the leaves just starting to change color.

Emily gazed up warily at the clouds. They looked ready to dump rain on her at any moment, and here she was standing in the cemetery without an umbrella. It certainly would not have been the worst thing that had happened to her, but she did not quite like the idea of heading home sopping.

She turned back to the two dozen white roses in her hand and the funeral under way just before her. The priest said his words, beautiful and elegant as always, but they felt hollow, pointless. There were a few others present, coworkers of her father, but otherwise it was a small affair. When it concluded, no other words were spoken about him, only a few condolences to her. Emily took them with a curt nod and a tight mouth. No words could be encouraged from her.

The mourners scurried off as the first drops of rain began to fall, but Emily remained. She watched the grave for a long time, as though waiting for a hand to burst from the earth. It was down pouring by the time she spoke. Her hair clung tightly to her skin now, as did her clothes, soaked completely through, but none of it seemed to bother her.

"You don't deserve to be buried next to her." Her voice was quiet, devoid of any emotion, like she had practiced all her life. "You didn't deserve anything either of us gave you."

That was all she said. There was nothing else that she needed to. It no longer mattered. He wouldn't hear a damn word.

Emily picked at the bouquets in her hand. She placed one on the grave beside her father's, where her mother had long been resting. From the other, she picked a single flower and placed it on her father's headstone, if only because her mother would have insisted upon it. She left then, trudging away through the rain soaked grass. She had no intention of returning to this place.

She paused a moment at the memorial that stood at the entrance of the cemetery, a solemn sight to greet all that entered. Reading the plaque, she set the remainder of the bouquet at the base, knowing that this person deserved the flowers much more than her father ever did.

_An inspiration to truth and justice everywhere  
__May Gotham never forget  
__Rachel Dawes_

The attorney had not been a friend of hers. Emily had actually never even met the woman, but she knew of her and all that she had done for Gotham. After her tragic death at the hands of the Joker, they erected a beautiful statue in her honor. An angel crying for the people adorned the top and looked over the cityscape in the distance. It was not nearly as wonderful as all the things they had done for the deceased District Attorney, but she had a feeling even this was too much for Rachel. She had seemed modest like that.

It continued to downpour when she exited, with lightning and thunder mixed in for affect, and not a single taxi was to be seen. They were often a dime a dozen, but always had a way of disappearing whenever the weather decided to turn foul. Strangely, it did nothing to bother her. She sat down at an empty bus stop and watched the rain as it pelted the glass above her. The world was being cleansed of dirt and other foul things that littered it. She took it as a sign of sorts and let herself become lost in the sound. It was a comfort to her.

After some time, Emily really could not say how long, a Gotham Police Department squad car pulled alongside the curb. A small smile tugged at her lips as she watched the driver's side door open. The young officer that stepped out ran quickly through the rain and joined her under the cover of the stop.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, ma'am, but this bus route is closed on Sundays," he said, sitting next to her as he wiped the rain from his hair.

Emily shook her head. John Blake was one of the few individuals that she dared to give the title of friend. At first, she had tried to distance herself from people. It had always seemed safer that way, but he had managed to sneak his way through. It also helped that he just happened to live in the apartment across from her. They constantly ran into one another, did each other favors and he always had a knack for showing up at the right time to give her a ride. He was a very sweet man, believed in justice with every fiber of his being, and was far better than anything she ever deserved.

She watched a bolt of lightning streak across the sky. "I didn't think Stevensburgh was part of your route."

"It's not," John replied bluntly.

"So, what, you're stalking me now?"

"No, of course not," he countered, thick city accent changing the sound of his words. He had lived in Gotham all his life and it showed. "But if I was, you'd never know."

"Someone's cocky today," Emily observed, giving him an incredulous look. She tried to sound annoyed by it all, but that could never be the case with John, especially now. He was a welcome distraction, and was honestly the only one who could ever make her feel normal. There were so many days that she just wanted to tell him how much he had mattered to her these past couple years, but that would mean admitting the truth, and she was not quite ready to do so. The death of her father meant the death of her long, dark past, but his grave was still fresh and she dared not hope for a better life just yet.

John continued, oblivious to the conflict raging inside of her. "Everyone's cocky. There's hardly any crime on the streets anymore. We had one call for an attempted robbery and I swear half the force showed up out of boredom." He paused, gaze swinging to her. She could see his brown eyes puzzling something over. "That's what brought me here. What about you? You're a long way from Gotham General, Em."

Normally she enjoyed the little nickname he gave her, but the conversation had turned toward the cemetery and the truth.

_Just one more lie. It can't hurt._

"I was just visiting someone in the graveyard: Rachel Dawes." At least that was not entirely false.

John raised an eyebrow, clearly curious. "Did you know her?"

"No," she replied with a shake of her head. "But, I figured she could use the company. Harvey Dent Day is coming up. People seem to forget he wasn't the only person Gotham lost, despite the epitaph." She watched his eyes darken at the mention of the D.A. While she was interested to know why that had caused the sudden change, she decided not to question it. It looked like a conversation he was not in the mood to have. "So, are we heading back to the apartment or would you rather sit in the rain all day?"

He smiled. She could see the mask slide back into place, hiding away all the anger and other emotions that were flooding through his system. It normally worked with others, was actually nearly flawless, but she had perfected the technique years ago and could see every crack in it, catch every glimpse of the dangerous waves of rage pulsing deep beneath. Her life had depended upon that perfection, unlike his, but maybe she was assuming too much.

"Definitely not. Besides, I have to get you back before you catch a cold." John stood and offered his hand, which she took.

"You know, that's just an urban legend," Emily said as she pulled her jacket tighter.

"If you say so." With that, he ran through the rain and opened the passenger side door for her, ever the gentleman despite the elements. It made her genuinely laugh. No one had been able to do that for a long time.

Not until him.

* * *

And there was the first chapter. I know there was a lot to digest (at least I think there was) and there will be much more to come, but it will come together. Please point out if it doesn't and feel free to ask me a question any time.

I won't beg for reviews but...well, they would be nice. :)

Have a nice day!


	2. Chapter Two

Holy guacamole, what a turn out! I cannot thank you guys enough for all of the amazing feedback you have given me! I've basically been grinning like the Cheshire Cat ever since, except perhaps a little less crazy...no, no, that's about accurate actually.

So, I'm going to try to update on a weekly basis, try being the key word here. I'm going to be moving soon so there might be a little bit of a rough patch, but it shouldn't be too bad. If I'm being slow, I give you all permission to message and annoy me until I update.

This chapter we get a little bit more of Emily's history and a few light moments, because the movie is coming and we all know the happiness is going to disappear real quick. Gotta get the cute stuff in while I can.

Also, told ya I'd change the picture! If you want the old one back, it's fine, I just really wanted one that I could say I 100% own.

So, relax, kick up your feet and enjoy!

**I own nothing.**

* * *

**Chapter Two**

_Emilia stared at the floor, memorizing the carpet patterns beneath her feet. The strangers had stopped trying to talk to her hours ago. She did not care for their condolences just as they did not care for her. They were only here for courtesy's sake, and appeared to be in a great amount of discomfort for having to do so. There were illegal activities that they would have committed with far more joy. _

_She beat the couch with her little, balled up fist. Twelve years old and motherless. All the other children at school had mothers. They had fathers too, fathers that helped with homework, drove them to lessons and gave them hugs. Hers didn't count. He had never done any of those things. That had all been tasked to her mother and now that she was gone, who would do them now?_

"_It's not fair," she sniffed, her eyes watering up again. "It's not fair!"_

_The room fell silent as Emilia jumped to her feet, staring at the gathered crowd in the living room with accusing eyes. Men and women all dressed in black looked down at her, their fake sympathy pooling to the floor, enough for her to drown in. She could see past all that. Her parents had thought she was asleep when they fought, but she had often crept down the steps unnoticed as they argued over who her father worked with, men who polluted Gotham with their evil doings. They were all robbers and killers, the twisted heart at the center of a dying city._

"_You killed my mother! You all did!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. Some of the men looked entertained; other faces bore worry. "I hope you die! I hope someone kills you, drowns you in that stupid bay where they found her! All of you!"_

_Other than a distant cough, the silence remained when she finished. Emilia panted, straining to see the figures through her tears. They all looked like monsters now, shedding their skin and showing their true colors. If only her father could see these people for what they really were, then maybe her mother would still be alive._

_A hand gently touched her shoulder._

"_Come with me, Emilia." _

_The man's gravelly voice was familiar to her, and the only reason that she allowed him to guide her out of the room without a fight. She felt their eyes as she was led upstairs, the air thick with unspoken words. Soon enough though, when she was out of sight, the murmurs began, awkward laughter followed and then suddenly everything was as it had been. It made her angrier._

_Though no one had ever been allowed in their house before, the man knew immediately where her room was. He motioned for her to sit on the bed and kneeled before her after she did so._

"_Now, Emilia, do you remember who I am?"_

_She squinted, trying to recall his features: the graying of his hair, the odd mustache that adorned his face, the strange curve of his nose. Older days returned to her, memories of a cottage on the Somme and a man who, despite his name, sounded nothing like a Frenchman. _

_A smile managed to appear. "Monsieur Ducard!" _

"_That's right. You know who I am, and you know that you can trust me." He paused, waiting for her acknowledgement. She nodded fervently. "Good. Now, Emilia, tell me…what happened downstairs?"_

_At this, Emilia bit her lip. Monsieur Henri Ducard was a nice man. He was a good friend of her father's and even her mother had liked him, but she was not too sure if she should tell him these things. Her father had yelled so much when she brought it up to him. However, it really made no difference now. There was a room full of people just a floor below them that knew._

"_Emilia," Henri spoke, softer but more insistent. "Why did you say these people killed your mother?"_

"_Because they did!" she spat out suddenly, anger rising again. "Father told me mother drowned, that she went to the beach and the waves swallowed her, but it's not true! Mother hates the water. It scares her. I could never swim in the Somme because she would not go near it."_

_She watched Henri during the few moments of silence between them. She could see the wheels turning in his head, but did not know what he was thinking of. Did he believe her? Someone had to._

_Then he smiled. "You are a smart girl, Emilia. Do not let that go to waste. You could be like your father one day."_

"_But I do not want to be like my father," she murmured, looking back down to her feet. He was a cold man and he heard voices. She had caught him arguing with himself more than once._

"_But you must!" Henri grabbed both her arms. "Someone like you has the ability to change the world, to stop bad things from happening, like what happened to your mother."_

_Emilia looked back up, staring straight into his blue eyes. They were so kind and filled with a life she had never seen in her father's. "Do you stop the bad things, Monsieur Ducard?"_

"_Yes, I do, and perhaps one day you could help me."_

_The thought appealed to her, helping Henri to keep the world safe for all the other twelve year olds out there, saving mothers so they would not have to feel the pain she did. He was ten times the man her father was._

_Suddenly, she frowned. "But what if they kill me?"_

_He chuckled. It was a deep sound. "Do not worry, Emilia. You can learn to defend yourself. Here, let me show you something I learned a long time ago."_

_From that day forward, she vowed to never let herself be vulnerable again._

* * *

Emily's eyes snapped open. The bright light flooding into her bedroom made her acutely aware that she had slept far later than the norm. The dull throbbing in her head and the inability to breathe through her nose told Emily she was sick, but she refused to accept that the rain had caused it. That was all John needed, more ammunition.

With a loud grunt, Emily forced herself up and out of bed. She shuffled into the kitchen, trying to ignore how muffled the world sounded now, and attempted to make herself breakfast. Cereal had never seemed so complicated. As the little hoops poured into the bowl, she mulled over her dream. Henri Ducard had been the man to save her when she was twelve. He gave her hope and a belief that good could still exist in a decadent world, and then he nearly destroyed her just as he nearly destroyed Gotham. The death of hope was more powerful than any physical abuse the body could be put through. That was when Emilia stopped existing.

Movement in the hallway outside burst Emily from her thoughts. She figured it was John heading to work, because honestly that was the only reason why he ever left his apartment. She had never seen him go out for any personal time, unless it was groceries or laundry. He never partied and in all the days they had lived across from one another, she had never seen him bring home a significant other. That part pleased her far more than it should have.

Grabbing her bowl, Emily moved to the door and opened it, watching her friend as she leaned against the frame. Her hair was probably a jungle and she didn't want to think about how the rest looked, but the beauty about being sick was that she really did not care.

"Sometimes I wonder if you even have civilian clothing," Emily mumbled as she poked her spoon at the cereal. Her voice sounded funny.

John turned to her, looking far too happy for someone at this time of day, whatever that time was, but that was probably the cold talking. There he stood, all spick and span in his pressed uniform like nothing could touch him. It took him all of five seconds to come to the conclusion that she was sick. She could see it in his eyes. They lit up at the prospect.

"Just say it, John."

"Nah, that'd be too easy," he replied with a slight smirk. It said that he would get her later. "But really, how bad is it?"

"I think if you shot me, it would be an improvement."

And there it was, the slight pause, the crack in his mask opening to reveal what lay beneath. The moment was so brief, no one would ever catch it, not if they didn't know, but to Emily it felt like she was staring at his anger for an eternity. She did not know why he wore the mask. They were neighbors, not confidants, but this told her something. He hated guns or at least the violence implied with them being tossed around so flippantly. Something had happened to him.

Then the moment was gone and the mask slid right back into place. "C'mon, Em, it can't be that bad."

She said nothing at first, only watched him with a strange curiosity. He caught this look, but she was not really trying to hide it.

"I'm sorry." She spoke softly, afraid it was the wrong thing to say. John could only gape at her. She watched the confusion flash in his eyes, followed by the disbelief. It would feel like the walls were crumbling down, that all the defenses he was so sure of were suddenly useless, and yet there would be a moment of relief. To know that someone paid attention well enough to notice and cared enough to say so, it brings the hope back. But that was how she had felt long ago, when a madman reached out to a young girl in her time of need. John was an adult and she was just his neighbor, nothing more. She had no right to assume anything about him.

The heavy silence was interrupted by a buzzing sound. John fumbled with a pocket and pulled out his phone. He stared at the screen and mumbled something before putting it back.

"Look, I…I gotta go."

John bolted for the elevator, leaving Emily standing alone in the hallway, hoping she had not done the wrong thing.

* * *

It wasn't everyday that something crazy happened in Gotham. At least, not anymore, not after the Dent Act came into effect and cleaned the streets up so well you could eat off them. Of course, every city had more than its fair share of crazies and it was going to take a lot more than a dead district attorney to get them all put away.

Case in point: vandalism at a graveyard. Okay, maybe crazies hadn't been the right term for it, more like teenagers with too much boredom and booze in their system. Either way, someone had to deal with them and today it was Blake and his partner, Ross. Technically a different precinct should have been handling it, but the 12th was short staffed so they decided to fill in.

"I was just out here yesterday," Blake commented as he watched Gotham pass by. He hadn't thought he'd be back in Stevensburgh so soon, much less the same cemetery. Was it a little creepy? Yes, but he tried not to think about it. "Found Emily at the bus stop. She just finished visiting someone."

"Looks like we found our perpetrator. Case closed," Ross said with a smile. Blake found himself slightly entertained by the idea of her doing anything remotely illegal. "In all seriousness though, when are you going to ask the girl out?"

Blake rolled his eyes. "I'm not doing this again."

"I'll stop if you don't mention her for one day," Ross paused, gauging his reaction. He tried very hard not to give the man anything. "I mean it, one day, but you won't be able to. Just like I can't get through one day without mentioning my wife."

"Are you implying something here?"

"I'm saying, a guy like you with the communication skills of a brick wall, who knows a girl who looks like _that_ and has not asked her out is either friend zoned or a coward. So, I'm telling, no… I'm ordering you to ask her out so I can stop being the only miserable, married son of a bitch in this car."

Blake blinked, completely uncertain of what to say for a long period of time. He opened and shut his mouth several times, choking on a few responses before the final: "Did you just say friend zoned?"

Ross was giving him the crazy look. He did that a lot. If the guy knew half of the things that went on in his mind, his face would stay that way permanently. "That's what you got out of it? You really are hopeless, Blake."

A slightly uncomfortable but not completely intolerable silence fell between them. Ross returned to focusing on the road while Blake watched the world outside his window, where his thoughts turned back to the subject of Emily.

He had first met Emily Carmichael about two years ago when he moved into the apartment complex. He did not have much stuff to fill the place, tiny as it was. Even now it seemed pretty sparse, but he considered himself lucky. He could have been running around the streets right now with nothing more than the clothes on his back. Emily had helped him with the things he did have and was even kind enough to give him a few tips, such as when the best time to do laundry was, which residents he should watch out for and the helpful fact that they never had hot water on Wednesdays.

Had he ever wanted to ask her out? Maybe. It would be a lie to say he didn't find her attractive or that he didn't purposely go out of his way all the time to give her a ride, but dating had never been one of his strong suits. As Ross pointed out, brick walls aren't the best at conversation, much less pick up lines. It never mattered anyway. He was always busy, as was Emily, and they both seemed to be okay with it.

But now he was questioning everything. How well did he really know her? He couldn't name her favorite color, much less any members of her family, and until now, Blake had been fairly confident that she knew just as little about him. But earlier today in the hallway, she had seen the real him. She had spotted the anger that he had learned to hide. He was never that good at it, the older cops didn't call him a hothead for nothing, but managed to cover most of it. Hothead was nothing; it was the tip of the iceberg. There was a rage in him that he could not deal with, that no one had ever seen, not even his partner.

But Emily had.

It confused and worried him, but most of all, he had just wanted to thank her. Which, of course, he hadn't. Instead he just left, at a rather ridiculous pace he might add.

He could be a real idiot sometimes.

Eventually they pulled up to the cemetery. It turned out a couple kids had tagged the Rachel Dawes memorial. It made him angry to see it destroyed like that, but not terribly so. After all, he used to be one of those kids. He would be lying if he said he had a squeaky clean life. Being an orphan was difficult, and he had lashed out a few times just to ease the pain. A memorial could always be cleaned or rebuilt if need be. No lives were affected; no harm was done.

While Ross interviewed the groundskeeper, Blake took a walk around the place. He had seen the flowers that Emily left for Rachel. It was nice of her to do that. She was right. Not many people thought about her anymore, even though she had been their district attorney until Harvey Dent arrived.

He paused in his walk, taking a deep breath. Thinking about that guy really made him want to go off the deep end. He could not figure out what it was that the man had done, but it must have been something horrible. Batman would not have let his name get dragged through the dirt like that for nothing. He would not have abandoned Gotham for nothing. The Batman may have been a vigilante who liked to take the law into his own hands, but he was not a murderer. He wouldn't have left the Joker alive and then gone to kill Dent without a reason, but no one seemed to be willing to see that. Ignorance had blinded them all.

When he had finally calmed down, Blake found himself standing before a pair of headstones. One grave had been freshly dug while the other had clearly been there for some time, thirteen years according to the inscription. They appeared no different from any of the others that were scattered on the grounds, except for the fact that lying on each of them were the same flowers he had seen at the memorial: white roses.

Blake squinted at the names. Margaret and Hugo L'etrange. They didn't sound familiar to him. He wondered if Emily had placed them there and why she would have done so. Maybe she had been at Hugo's funeral. Blake liked to think she would have told him that yesterday but she never was obligated to tell him anything.

Then again, it was probably just a coincidence.

* * *

Alfred had never liked the Batcave. It was dark, dank and reeked of the rotten little creatures it had been named for. He always had the uncontrollable urge to clean but there wasn't much point to it, so he let everything be, as painful as it was, and tried to touch as little as possible. Bruce, however, had seemed suited for the place. He could have been found here more often than not when the Batman was still seen roaming the streets of Gotham. Some days, Alfred thought the billionaire was turning into a bat himself.

It had been several hours since he had last seen Bruce. He was not quite certain if the man had gotten any sleep or even emerged from his underground hideout since Emily had left. Looking at him did not help either. Bruce was so haggard, he looked years old than he actually was, and consequentially, always tired.

Gently, Alfred placed a tray of food next to Bruce, who hardly moved a muscle as his eyes scanned over the various screens. Curious, he took a quick peek, noticing several pictures of the very girl he spoke to the day before.

"I take it you found her then," Alfred observed as he stepped back. Water dripped on him from an overhanging stalactite. He did not bother hiding the frown.

Bruce leaned back against his chair, stroking the beard that had overtaken his normally smooth features. "I checked out her Joker story. Turns out she wasn't lying."

With one simple keystroke, all the monitors blacked out save for one. There was Emily, much younger, being checked on by paramedics in an ambulance. One was bandaging a cut on her neck with the other sliced the tape from her wrists.

"Her name is Emily Carmichael. She's a nurse at Gotham General. Her parents live somewhere upstate and she has a modest apartment in midtown Gotham. Smart girl, graduated high school at the age of 16. She was interning at the hospital which was how the Joker got to her."

Alfred smiled a little. "So, it's very possible she came to her conclusion about you on her own." He was no fool. Alfred knew Bruce had been thinking every man and his uncle suddenly knew who he was if she did.

"It is possible, but I'm not too sure," Bruce replied as he started clicking through the information again, clearly dissatisfied. "Something about her just doesn't add up."

He sighed. There would be no getting rid of his suspicious nature. Why he had ever bothered trying left him at a loss. "Not every citizen of Gotham has a shady past, I'm pleased to say."

"And not everyone's is as perfect as hers."

A few moments of silence passed by. Alfred debated whether or not he should leave Bruce to his search. He did have more planning to do for the Harvey Dent Day festivities they were hosting – which he had questioned Bruce on more than once. The man seemed to live for torturing himself. Besides, any place was better than this dreary hole in the ground.

He had just decided to leave when one last click brought a faint smile to Bruce's lips. He had not seen one for a long time. It was good to know he was still capable of such a thing.

"You told me she had a funeral to go to?"

"Yes, Master Wayne, I did."

A few more clicks and his smile grew wider.

"Alfred, I think we should extend Ms. Carmichael an invitation to the party."

He did not bother asking why. Something to him he would be finding out soon enough and that he was not going to like it one bit.

* * *

Grrrraaaaarrrr! I don't know why, but Blake was just so difficult for me to write. I hope I did him justice. Is friend zoned a weird thing to put in? Probably but I like to think his partner is on Imgur a lot. (Any imgurians on here? Just me? Oh...well...never mind.)

So, who is her father? Anyone know? Annnyone? Holler if you know! (Not literally of course. You might look a bit silly doing that.) I'll get more in detail about him next chapter.

Also, hope the dream/memory thing wasn't confusing. I just really liked it. Any questions? Shoot me a message or include it in a review!

Thanks for reading! Have a great day!


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